Ain True Love
by Morna
Summary: Written to the song "Ain True Love" by Allison Krauss. Link goes off to war and Malon waits faithfully for her lover to return. AU


Ain True Love

An AU LinkxMalon one-shot written to the song "Ain True Love" by Allison Krauss. Summary, Link and Malon are sweethearts and he is called off to war.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, inhaling his scent for what might be the last time for many moons. She buried her face in his shoulder, feeling him breathe and sigh beneath her. Her fingers twined together as she tried to urge herself to release him. The bit and bridle of his horse jingled in the background, eager to be on its way. She ignored the sounds around her, the calling of the birds, the impatient stamping of his mount, and the lonely whisper of the wind across the fields. Her only world was here with him now. She existed solely to hold him, and he existed solely to comfort her in this last hour of small peace.

His arms around her waist loosened all too soon, and he detangled himself from her. Link took a step back from her, his eyes kind and sad. Calloused fingers brushed a tendril of hair from her forehead.

"I've got to be going, love," he whispered. He gave a wayward nod to the horse behind him and the small retinue of knights gathered further back. She had forgotten about them.

The breath rushed from her lungs as the world seemed to contract painfully and suddenly along with her heart. Her fingers strayed to his scarred cheek, feeling the prickle of stubble underneath the pads. She cleared her throat and let her eyes slide to his fellow soldiers. They respectfully turned their gaze westward, away from the parting couple.

She untied the knot of fabric at her throat and pulled away the gold scarf. It bunched between her fingers as she stood on tip toe to tie it around his neck. He looked down at her, smiling for a moment before a flood of sorrow washed it away.

"This," she said, her voice almost breaking, "will keep you safe. Nothing shall touch you while you wear it. So keep it near your heart and think of me."

He gave the bit of cloth an affectionate tug as his other hand cupped her cheek. She leaned into the caress, closing her eyes momentarily and imagining them in a different time and place.

"You know I will." He pressed his lips to hers for a moment and then to her brow.

Tears crept down her cheeks, leaving long wet tracks. He hugged her once more, quickly and tight, before he turned away. She watched as he strode towards his horse and his companions. In one smooth motion he pulled himself into the saddle. He talked to his commander at his left briefly. Then he waved to her, kicked his mount into a trot, and took off in a cloud of dust and grass.

Her feet moved of their own volition. She didn't realize she was running until the gate of the ranch was blurring around her eyes. "You come back to me, Link. You hear? You come back alive."

She saw him turn his head to look at her over his shoulder. He merely nodded with perfect assurance. Then he was disappeared over the hill to leave her standing there alone in Hyrule Field.

********************************************************************************

The days passed slowly as Hyrule's knights waged her war. She went about her tasks because she had no choice. The farm did not wait for men to return to their women. The horses needed to be stabled, the cows to be milked, and cuccoos to be fed. The sun awakened and slept. The moon rose and set.

Everyday when time permitted her she gathered blue and white forget-me-nots and violets to hang in bundles at the entrances and along the rafters. When she could afford them she bought red tulips to sit in a vase on her table. She did these things to keep some piece of him with her constantly, to remind herself that all was not as it seemed. She did this to keep from allowing herself to being fooled into thinking that he was away on business. The flowers made her remember that somewhere far away the man she loved was fighting on foreign soil.

Sometimes she would get letters. They were short and blunt, written in a quick and messy hand on scraps of paper or vellum. There were no long, rambling poems written in them. Most of the time they said something to effect of that he was cold and hungry and miserable, that war was not how he had imagined, and that he missed and loved her. After reading them, she would sit by the fire clutching the latest one to her chest with tears glistening unshed in her eyes. Then she would tuck them away in a drawer next to her bed. They were not much, but they were enough.

It was not the romantic scenario that stories told her of but it was hers and that was all that mattered. She had been born a simple girl and had fallen in love with a simple boy who had grown to be a great man.

Everyday she waited outside for the mail courier to stop. Sometimes he did, but most of the time he kept going with a sad shake of his head. She would then go back inside and make supper.

Then the letters stopped coming.

*************************************************************************************

A knock came at her door early one morning. She rose and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. Her stomach turned to lead. There were no customers scheduled today. She sent a prayer up to the Three and slowly made her way down the stairs to the kitchen.

Bile rose in her throat as her hand reached for the knob and turned it.

There at her door was a messenger of the Hylian army dressed in full regalia. His helmet and armor gleamed almost painfully in the weak morning light. He looked tired and weary as if he felt far too old for his probably no more than twenty five years.

She politely invited him for a cup of tea or milk. He declined.

"Are you Malon Lon?" He asked, and he looked as if he hoped she would answer no.

"I am." She felt light headed.

"The Hylian Army regrets to inform you that Link Korkiri, Knight of the 13th Legion, has died in battle bravely and courageously fighting for his country."

Her mouth went dry. The shawl dropped to the floor as her fingers lost their hold. She bowed her head for a moment, pleading to wake up and find that she'd rolled out of bed. She shook her head then and stared into the stranger's face. "How can you be sure? What if you have the wrong man?"

His mouth thinned into a grim line. He pulled something out of a sack.

He pressed a wad of cloth into her hands. "He was wearing this."

Tears cluttered her eyes and throat until she couldn't breathe. She unfolded the piece of clothing. The scarf was tattered and ragged at the ends, burned, and stained rust and black.

"H-how?" she asked, her voice trembling beyond her control.

"He died fighting brave-"

"How?"

The man looked down for a moment. "They were riding home. They were ambushed. I am told that he tried to hold them off while his comrades escaped. He died a hero."

She pressed the rag to her chest to keep her heart in her ribcage. "Thank you," she whispered as she gave the man her back.

"If there is anything you need, Lady Lon, please don't hes-"

"There isn't. At least, nothing you can give me. Now please go," she murmured, shutting the door on the messenger.

She crumpled onto the bench, resting her elbows on the table top. She felt nothing as she folded and refolded the wrinkled garment. She held it against her nose to try and find a faint whiff of his scent. There was none.

Without her knowing, tears were leaking down her face, tiny rivers. She laid her head on her arms and wept.

She had not wanted a hero. She had wanted a husband. The problem with heroes is that all too often they died.


End file.
